Lights
by Adreus
Summary: Photons are particles of light, and light fades away.


**Notes: **Um. So this was... a stupid theory that popped into my head sometime before the true origins of Kaito, his powers, Droite, etc, were revealed. I really, really wanted to write it, and I enjoyed writing it a lot, too, so I hope you like it even though canon has debunked this now?

Ellie Goulding's _Lights _was my looped track of choice, if you'd like to read with the same backdrop I had.

* * *

_Lights_

* * *

The first time he shifts is a surprise to no one but him, because it's controlled by everyone but him; it's like a remote switch, like he's become a machine, and maybe by then he has, because he doesn't think that after that operation his body is his anymore. It's been a day since his recovery and the men in charge say he'll start to feel different in a week or so, that the sudden surges of electrical energy erupting in his blood at odd intervals is normal; but it doesn't take a week, barely takes a day, and what they suggested would be mild irritation is actually a monstrous, burning pain, igniting his soul on fire, searing and scorching and sweltering, and he's not supposed to scream—(_it could be me, they could use me, my screams could suffice, could even be better)_—but he does. He screams and he screams and he cries and he whimpers, writhes on the floor like a poisoned animal, because he's burning, burning, his entire body is on fire and tearing itself apart at the seams, fighting itself on the inside and the out and his eye—Oh, God, his _eye_—is the worst of it all, and he wants to tear it out and throw it away but he can't control his arms through the spasms, isn't in control of anything that once was his.

The men watch him, screaming and twitching as he is on the balcony that looks out at the big moon and the endless skies, but they say nothing, do nothing, simply watch as his skin seems to dissolve, seems to grow anew and turn a ghostly, glowing pale that's almost translucent in its unearthly existence, and it goes on. It goes on for hours, days, months, years, and he's just screaming and choking as his body converts from one form of matter to another.

It goes on for fifteen minutes and fifteen minutes alone, and then suddenly it's like he's stabbed in his eye, can't make a sound anymore, and he's crumpled in a heap on the ground with tears on his face and stitches at his lungs, and his eyes are closed for fear that there's nothing to see when he opens them. There's throbbing, timed in his eyes with the beating of his heart—(_it's still there, it's still beating, I still have my_)—and then there's another current of electricity building up inside, forcing its way through his bloodstream, and he knows for once its path and just as it's about to hit he snaps his eyes open and there's a pulse of white light, the loud beating of his heart the only thing he hears, and it is done.

The pain stops. Or perhaps he's too numb now to feel it.

He can see things naturally now that aren't natural, can see the data and feel the hum of technology in the air and in him, and as the physiological shift settles into his cells, Kaito collapses, the haunting ghosts of malady penetrating the darkest depths of his nightmares.

* * *

When he next wakes, the sounds of his stirring are the only sensory stimulation, because his eyes stay shut, almost as though they're afraid to open. He swallows once, twice, reminds himself that it's different now, that he's taking charge and he swore an oath and he's not supposed to feel fear, not supposed to feel much at all, and then they're open and he's hit with a hard headache as his vision reveals its transformation: Even outside of photon mode, he can see more clearly than he ever has before, and the strain is unnatural and sends his nerves into a panic, but he commands himself to stop, clenches his fists and his teeth, and his body begins to calm itself under the altered regiment.

Kaito takes in his surroundings.

He's in a new room now, lying on his back and staring at a shiny white ceiling, stinging in its fluorescence. He's not strapped in as he was when they first put in the serum, but he's hooked up to wires, skinny clear tubes with particles of glowing light floating into him, tickling his skin every time they touch it, then sinking quietly, like drops of water into a lake of light. The room is a stark contrast to what he's become used to in Heartland; it's made of shades of grey, with dark machinery and darker walls and odd clicking noises at unnatural pitches. The only company he has is the rhythm of the machinery and the sound of his own, strange breathing, but he's okay with it, because the only company he wants is Haruto's, and—

Haruto.

—(_dammit_, _you_)—

haruto

—(_what is _wrong_ with you, dammit_)—

HARUTO

Kaito curses himself, feels the anger build up inside like he's never felt it before, feels his blood boil and spark and ignite, and he wonders what's wrong with him, what sort of drug they gave to calm his nerves and understimulate his everything, because he's not like this, this isn't him, he can't just sit and be quiet and let things go as they are, he's _Kaito_, he's the one who takes action and protects his little brother and he's the one who—

He doesn't have _time_ for this, what is he doing having some stupid internal monologue? He needs to—he—

Kaito growls and pulls at the wires, pulls them straight from his body and there's a moment where it stings but then it's fine, like there wasn't anything connected to him moments before, and yeah, it feels good to use his arms again and do something himself, and then he's standing and he's breathing hard and kicking and shoving things and he finds the door and tries to yank it open but it's locked, of course it's locked, they can't have him leaving on them, can they, so he kicks it strong and hard and then it's open, and he runs, he runs out into the corridors he knows nothing about and he's shouting the name—

"Haruto!"

This way and that way, he looks wildly from side to side, but there's no sign of anything or anyone, even with the bright lights and the endless door he thinks he might've been alone, and he wonders suddenly what time it is, how long has he been out? Is he still dreaming, is he even awake, is he even real, has he ever been?

He shakes himself. Does it matter if he's real, does it matter if he's not? All that matters is Haruto, all that matters is he's stupid and he makes swears and then he's out and he's useless, he—

—(_'you' what? who's 'you', there's no 'you', there's only_)—

Where is Haruto?

Kaito stops, but it's not because he's given up, it's because he's tired, and he's surprised that he's had stamina to go this long. He leans against a wall for support and he's choking for lack of water, but his mind is racing, trying to put things together and nothing makes _sense_, where is he? Where is he, where is Haruto, where is—

Where... is anyone?

The voice is sudden and startling and it comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once, like it senses the silence and the space in Kaito's mind, and he's startled and growls when he hears it because it sounds so damn smug, it sounds so damn sinister, and he knows that voice, it's the same one that made him swear, the same one that took everything away, it's—

"There's no one human here, Kaito," speaks Heartland, and Kaito's distracted, all kinds of confused and shaken and _where is Haruto_, so he doesn't hear the footsteps behind him, doesn't notice the presence of someone else until it's too late, and the needle's already in his shoulder.

—(_but I'm_)—

* * *

"Niisan?"

Kaito wakes up.

He's getting kind of sick of waking up, but it's better to be woken then it is to be jolted out of dreams, so he does it, and his eyes don't hurt as much this time, and the vision doesn't sting, and the voice doesn't hurt to hear, so he groans and he sits up and he wonders if there's even a point to wondering where he is. There's someone there with him this time, standing just behind him, he can sense it, and maybe he'll punch that damned Heartland in the face, and—

"Niisan!"

Everything stops.

"Haruto?"

And a little body scoots itself right next to his, and there's no time to wonder what the hell this is, only time to pull his guiding light closer to him, keep him safe in his arms and apologize two hundred million times.

"They said I could see you, but I never saw you, and I really—"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

—(_I still have my_)—

* * *

He learns her name is Droite.

"It's called Photon Mode," she says in form of greeting, and she's got this stiff voice and strong stature, and somehow he feels like she wants him to be afraid of her, but he's not. By now he's seen Haruto, he's seen the boy's face and he's seen the boy's actions, and there's something so, so wrong, so Kaito's steeled himself. There's no pain now. There's no fear now. If he has anger for Heartland, he channels it elsewhere, and Orbital is back, too, so he can control himself, he can do this.

He can hunt.

She teaches him how.

"I don't know if I care what it's called," says Kaito, and actually, yeah, he knows: He _doesn't_ care—it's a power, it allows him to wield Numbers and it makes him stronger, so he can collect the numbers and cure Haruto and then he can leave. Frankly, he doesn't give a damn what it's called.

Droite's expressions are hard to read, but sometimes Kaito thinks she looks at him like she's upset. Sometimes she looks like she's going to cry. Sometimes she looks like she wants to slap him, out of anger or into sense. But she doesn't say anything about it; she just tells him what he needs to know even if he doesn't think he needs to know it, tells him how to cast out the Photon Hand, how to strangle souls with the red string of fate.

"What he did to you makes you different," she says. "Photon Mode changes you, Kaito, because the light isn't our light—it's from other worlds. And Photon Mode turns you into that light and you expend its energy with every second you're in it. If you don't recharge, you're losing your life—what's left of it—and you won't regenerate. And—"

"I die."

She frowns.

"You disappear."

(Sometimes he talks to her.)

Kaito scowls and draws a card, does his all and wins every duel.

("Do you have any siblings, Droite?")

(She did).

(For weeks, it's Haruto that keeps Kaito company at night—and if he does, it's because Droite makes it so).

* * *

—(_Fuck dueling_.)—

* * *

He _hates _it, he hates to high hell, what is the _fun _in this, it's so easy and it's so stupid and so there's satisfaction in being stronger than the opponent, but it's just a _weapon_, and, and—

Galaxies dance in the eyes of yet another intangible thing that Kaito wants—

—(_stop that_)—

—and can't have.

Wanting is stupid, too.

* * *

He plays them once, and Haruto calls him.

* * *

He plays them twice, and lights drain him.

* * *

He plays them thrice, and he can duel them into a wall, always has been able to. It's really just a joke—who is this creature, what is this creature, Kaito thinks he should probably want to know, because it's not human, just like he's not human, and Astral's got a connection to Haruto and Astral's got a connection to the poison in Kaito's body. Astral is the plague that saturates his life, Astral is everything wrong, Astral is…

Astral is what he's been after since the very beginning.

That's what Astral is.

Everything that's happened, everything that Kaito's done, it leads up to now, up to this victory and damn him, damn his existence because if Astral didn't exist then Kaito wouldn't be like this, _Haruto _wouldn't be like this, and Kaito will shatter galaxies and conquer moons and illuminate the darkness. The hunter, the light, Kaito will win.

("You dumbass, _stop_! Your body will—")

If his body holds out.

Kaito draws the card and makes the move and has the satisfaction of seeing Astral panic, the satisfaction of Yuma's wide, fearful eyes, because, yeah, Kaito scares them, he knows that, revels in it. He holds his head high and he's laughing, a laugh that's almost unnatural, and is that glee he feels running under his skin, because he forgot what happiness feels like, and he's close, so close, and then it'll be over, it'll all be done with—

Somewhere in the universe the lines blurs between lifepoints and Life Points, and with every breath goes another second of light and life.

He's a second away from winning. Just has to declare the attack.

Sudden as a bolt of lightning, obtrusive as the crack of thunder, it happens. It gets difficult to see, to hear, to breathe. It's almost like his mouth is too afraid to open, too scared to speak, and then...

It's back.

The beating in his ears, the pulse in his throat, and he's on fire again, burning and tearing apart at what's left of the seams, and the world flashes and he swallows and—

_Thump. Thump._

"Niisan!"

—(_It's still beating, I still have my)—_

He's still dressed in white and fading away when the little boy reaches him, holds him tightly and cries and yells, and then he's gone, like the shimmering of sparks in an augmented reality.

—(_Haruto_).


End file.
